


Non v’è rosa senza spina

by Magnipotence



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Vampires, escaping the consequences of your own actions, important game spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnipotence/pseuds/Magnipotence
Summary: Astarion chooses to break an important promise, and she lives to confront him about it.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Non v’è rosa senza spina

**Author's Note:**

> We live in a castle made out of sand  
> I stood there and wondered how much you can stand  
> Both of us float in the same kind of dark  
> But I was the storm and you were always the ark  
> You've already heard everything that I've said  
> I'm a man of my word and that word is 'regret'
> 
> "If I'm crazy" - Amigo the Devil

Non v’è rosa senza spina

[There is no rose without thorns]

X

Darkness.

Overwhelming, impenetrable darkness that crawls against Verdarriel’s skin like shadows across the walls.

It fills out her lungs, leaving her to struggle to breathe in its terrible grip. The darkness swallows them in its powerful grasp, drowning out the screams that tear from her throat as she fights against the force that has wrapped itself around her soul.

There is no pain, but the panic is settling into the crevices of her mind, and she can feel herself slipping, slipping somewhere into the dark that holds her prisoner.

Whispers of an unknown language murmur against the shell of her ear, and she can feel the cool sensation slither across her body in agonizing slowness. The darkness takes its time in caressing her, murmuring nonsense, and it swallows her whole.

There is nothing, and Verdarriel is nothing, she is no one, and there is only the dark; the dark that holds its breath against the very thing that makes her alive.

Something tugs at her center, pulling her further into the void –

X

The light is what wakes her.

She opens her eyes to the bright sun hanging overhead in the sky far above her. Her lungs fill up with air and she lets go of a shaky breath that leaves her ribs rattling.

“That was our last scroll,” a voice says from behind her. The white-haired elf sits up gingerly and turns to face them with blood-red eyes, revealing the face of the usually angry Shadowheart. The cleric seems to be holding back some sort of rage, brimming dangerously beneath the surface, but she gets the feeling that it isn’t necessarily directed at her.

And then she remembers.

The memories come floating slowly back, filling in the hazy moments that bubble to the forefront of her mind. A fitful attempt at sleep, a series of forgotten nightmares that filled the gaps between periods of being awake, and then a cool breath at the back of her neck, filling her with a fear she is so tired of feeling.

But then, when she turned, it had not been an enemy at her back, but a companion – the similar white-haired high elf who had once held a knife to her throat after he threw them both into the ground. She had nearly stabbed him before he told her an impossible tale – of how he was a vampire, and he needed the lifeblood of others to survive. She had never seen him as one of the monsters painted in legend, but that didn’t keep her from being any less suspicious. He had all but begged for a simple taste and despite her initial fears, she acquiesced to his quiet demand. He had promised her that nothing would go wrong.

And then he broke that promise.

She doesn’t remember dying. She merely remembers fading away as he drank away her strength. She had tried to struggle, tried to fight him off, but she was too weak by the time it was too late.

She looks at Shadowheart with a renewal of anger in her own heart. “Where is he?”

Shadowheart gives her a curious look. “Which he? There just happens to be an abundance of men in this camp after all. Be more specific.”

Ah, so no one knew the true reason behind her death. She supposed it was for the best – she didn’t want the group getting to him before she did.

Verdarriel clambers to her feet, nearly stumbling in her race to stand. Shadowheart doesn’t offer a hand of help but instead watches as she struggles to take her first few steps. Every step felt like lead, and her body shook with the effort to walk straight. She knew she should take it easy, but the anger was fresh; it was something that could not wait. Not now. Not ever.

She passed both Wyll and Gale in her desperate search, but they seemed to understand that it was not them she’s looking for. They congratulate her on her return to the living and point her in the direction of her prize.

After a slow trek across the campsite and a few embarrassing stumbles, she eventually makes her way into the woods and away from camp. She doesn’t have her bow on her, nor her dagger, but she didn’t need weapons just yet. She wasn’t going to hurt him, but she definitely plans on making her anger apparent.

Verdarriel finds him on the outskirts, leaning against a tree and staring vacantly into the distance. Oddly he looks so at peace, as if their shared adventure gifted him some sort of bliss that she would never feel. From this angle, his eyes are turned away from her, and his attention has long gone onto something else.

She steps up to the side, making her presence known. He turns to her, but there is no guilt there. Oddly, she doesn’t know what she was expecting. From their interactions alone, Verdarriel realized a long time ago that he didn’t think like she did, nor did he believe in the same things. He is by no means a kind man in the same way Gale or Wyll were, but she still expected some sort of emotion rather than the smug expression that was a prominent feature of his regal face.

“Ah, if it isn't our fearless leader,” he says with a hubris that shouldn’t belong to him. “Enjoy your nap?”

She smiles at him, all teeth and crinkling eyes, and then she strikes.

She makes sure to aim for the throat.

He’s taken by surprise as he doesn’t react in time to her assault. Her fist makes contact with his jugular and he stumbles back, clutching at the tree next to him for support. He coughs violently as he fights to regain his voice before finally managing to regain his bearings.

“What was that for?” He asks with a glare, rubbing at his throat.

“You bastard,” she sneers in response. “I gave you my _trust_.”

His eyes shift away from her in an unspoken guiltiness.

“It was a mistake,” he responds quietly as he meets her gaze head-on. “Mistakes happen.”

“A mistake that got me _killed_.”

Astarion has the audacity to flit his red eyes away from hers once more, and his silence is her only response. Suddenly filled with rage once more, she lashes out – this time, aiming for his far too beautiful face. But she is far too slow, as he manages to catch her fists in his hands. He looks at her with an expression that almost borders on annoyance, but he seems to have the understanding that she’s not afraid of him. 

“ _Not a drop more,”_ she mimics in an obnoxiously posh voice. “What’s your concept of a drop, Astarion? The entire fucking blood supply?”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he says in response, but she doesn’t believe a word of it. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Verdarriel? I’m _sorry_ it got you killed. I mean, I’m truly not – accidents happen, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve fed on a living creature that had true sentience. It was a mistake and one that will not happen again. I _promise_.”

She rips her hands out of his and steps back a considerable distance. He watches her go but does not follow in her wake, choosing to lean casually against the tree next to him.

“Promises be damned – how can I trust you after you bled me dry? You didn’t even try to save me. You _killed_ me.”

“I’ve already apologized!” Astarion scoffs. “What _more_ do you want?”

“For you to accept the consequence of your own damn actions. I _died_ , Astarion. Does that mean nothing to you?”

He blinks and cocks his head in an almost confusing matter. “Death? What does death mean to me, Verdarriel? I’ve been dead longer than you’ve been alive.”

And then she remembers. She’s not dealing with a high elf like herself. She’s dealing with a vampire. An undead creature that up until current events couldn’t bear the light of day. For as far as they know, he is the first of his kind to see the sun since one’s turning.

“I died,” she says quietly. “And do you know what I found on the other side? Darkness. Emptiness. Swallowing me whole, devouring everything that was left of me to have. It was never-ending, and it wanted the last of whatever you had left alive.”

“Sounds charming.”

Verdarriel narrows her eyes. “Does death not scare you?”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “I have already died before, darling. Once is enough for me. I don’t plan on seeing it a second time.”

“What was it like?”

Astarion does not respond to her immediately. Instead, he turns to look out into the distance, a faraway look casting itself over the glow of his maroon eyes. He seems to ponder upon something for a moment before turning back to her with a smirk.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He says in response. “It was nothing special. There isn’t much time to spend dead when you’re being transformed into something else quite quickly afterward.”

In the pale glow of the early morning sun, she can see her own mistake reflected back at her. Despite their shared high elf heritage, he still came from a world entirely unlike her own. The wild ran rampant in her living blood – all she has ever known has been the beauty of life in its entirety. Being a ranger at home in the heart of the woods was her life for many years, and it is what she has come to expect. Of course, she knew that death was a natural response to the living, but her experience with such matters is entirely unlike the creature before her.

Creature. She ponders upon the term for a moment, staring Astarion down. She realizes that he’s no creature in the same sense as a monster, but he’s something she has never seen before. For him, he was her opposite – an existence composed entirely of death and destruction. A single life was just a drop of blood in a sea of bleeding viscous. Her anger flares slightly as he gives her a knowing look, eyes glinting dangerously as they lock gazes.

A smirk crawls across his pale lips, and she finds herself watching the smile flash across his razor-sharp teeth. She has always thought it strange he bared such sharp teeth, but she has seen many things in her time alive. At the time, she merely believed it to a genetic defect or an inherited trait of some sort. Now, she knows the truth.

“It was an accident,” he repeats softly, taking a small step forward. “We have bigger problems to worry about than the occasional death between friends, hmm?”

Verdarriel gives him a pointed look. “Don’t you think friends is a bit of a stretch? I’ve known you less than a week, and you’ve already had a hand in my death. An event that was seriously _traumatic_ by the way, but I am the fool to believe you have any interest in the feelings of others.”

Astarion saunters forward, tension coiled tight in his shoulders as he presses towards her like a wild animal in search of its prey. His eyes meet hers once more, and he flashes a bit of teeth at her as he reaches ever closer. The threat is obviously there, buried deep beneath his smirk; his sharp teeth an ever-present threat.

“Friends?” His voice is a low purr, and his eyelids lower seductively as he faces her head-on. “Oh darling, we can always be something other than just friends. You merely need to say the word.”

Embarrassed, Verdarriel lashes out to smack him across the chest, but he catches her assault with ease as if he’s the cat and she’s the sewer rat with a cross to bear.

“Ah, ah, that’s not very nice, now is it? I’ve done nothing else to deserve such a thing.”

Verdarriel scowls but says nothing, only watching as he draws her captured hand towards him. His expression is one of coyness as he brings the joint of her wrist to his lips, and her traitor heart skips a beat when a pale pink tongue darts outs to trail a path across her exposed skin.

“A gift was given to me.” He murmurs against her skin. “It is one I am not likely to forget.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing gratitude.”

He licks a teasing path across her pulse, scraping the tip of his fangs against the exposed skin.

“You’re alive now, aren’t you?”

Her half-lidded eyes catch his. “Through no help of yours."

“Despite her general hatred of us all, Shadowheart tends to be useful when someone kicks the proverbial bucket. Be grateful for the small miracles of life, Verdarriel dear. Not everyone gets a second chance, hmm?”

She goes to steal her arm back, but he holds tight. She fights against him, struggling to free herself, but his vice grip proves to be more than she can overcome. Hand to hand combat had never been her strong suit as she wasn’t the strongest person, and this situation was only proving her own weakness in the face of a problem.

Astarion places a kiss against the pulse; an unspoken promise that burns against her skin despite his cold lips.

“Stop that.”

To her surprise, he begrudgingly seems to pull away from her wrist, but he eyes the pulse with a longing that she had hoped her untimely death would have cured. Still, he is stuck in his cycle of hungering for what he cannot have, and he continues to be a slave to the very subsistence that sustains him.

“Although my actions of late have shown otherwise, there remains the fact that you _can_ trust me. I’ve held back this entire time, have I not? If I did not need you, then none of you would have lived to see the light of day again.”

“That doesn’t exactly quell my concerns. You’ve gotten the taste of blood – how can you prove to me that you can control yourself?”

“I’ve tasted your blood,” he says softly. “And here I am, restraining myself from taking what is not mine to steal. You live because I need you to trust me in the event we continue to search for a solution to our communal problem.”

Ah yes, the worm. She wonders how her death affects such a matter – does it die with her? Does it continue to worm its way through her skull as the days pass by? She can only assume the worst at his point, and she takes a step away from him.

“You can stay,” she tells him. “But we’ll have to figure out how to keep you fed without decimating the local wildlife.”

He grins. “You could always offer. Let me show you that I can be trusted.”

Verdarriel pauses. A well-fed Astarion would keep them alive a little longer, and she wonders if he truly can be trusted with such a delicate matter.

She begrudgingly admits to herself that the act itself had not been so terrible – it had been numbing in a comforting way, and for a moment, there were no dangers to be had. There had only been peace and the quiet of the sleeping camp, and she had never been so calm.

But then she died.

She turns away from him. “I’ll think about it.”

His blood-red eyes seem to dance with unnamed emotion. “We will see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part One of Four
> 
> I ended up choking on my own spit from laughing so hard when Astarion drained my player character to death. The fact that nobody reacts is such a treat and totally a waste. That's why fanficiton exists I suppose - to fill in the blanks xD


End file.
